WHAT TALE WILL I TELL

about that crap game
I was too long in
and whenever
I wanted to cash out,
I made a number
or found a buck
and rolled again?
What will I ask
when I get up there
and have a chance
to straighten this out--
all this confusion
all those lost opportunities
all those mulish times?
What will I ask Him?

What would you ask Him?

Don't really know...
Don't really know the good it'll do.

C'mon, what would you ask?

Well, I guess like I said:
Why'd you keep me down there so long;
why'd you keep me in the game?

What da ya think He'd say?

I don't think He'd say a goddamn thing.
I don't think He knows either.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2017

"I'M DYING

to know
the ending.
This
is where
I came
in.
I've seen
this part.
Don't
be
a prick.
Stop
teasing
me.

I can't make
heads
or tails
out of it.
Why
He's kept me
in this crap
game
so long
is
a mystery.
It's
the first
thing
I'll ask Him."

"What do you think
he'll say?"

"Nothin,
that's what.
I don't think
he has
any fuckin answer
either."

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2016

THE RUB-OUT

For Jimmy G.

Who knows
who did it?
or why?
All we know:
it was ordered
on high.

Maybe the gods knew
there was cancer,
or ALS, or a soft dick
at an early age
in his future
and he was so good,
so kind, so much above us,
that they wanted to spare him
the indignities?
Or maybe
he really was
a mean fuck,
a prick,
and busted-up women,
or a bastard son
who never could get
a sit-down with him
and they exacted
some kind of balance
we know
nothing of?

Maybe this,
maybe that--
who the fuck knows?
All we can know
is that it was done;
we don't know
who did it
or why.
We do know
it was done clean,
by a professional,
who did it quick
and left
no trace.
We also know
Jimmy G. will be missed,
but only for a little while,
then we'll forget
until the next big hit
is ordered.
But just think:
if a guy like him
could get whacked
out of the blue
none of us are safe.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2013